Supper Clubs are a bit too precious these days

When did we decide that a potluck dinner was beneath us? Perhaps it was the moment when the progressive dinner went from a house-to-house journey to a chocolate and gold-leaf panna cotta being consumed on a ride to nowhere.

The Huffington Post has the story of A Razor, A Shiny Knife — a supper club whose members dined on a six-course meal replete with glassware, place settings and cutlery while riding the L-Train from Brooklyn to Manhattan. The course of that 22-minute tram ride, I think it’s safe to say, is the moment when supper clubs forgot their way.